She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. “How do you feel?” she asked. ” He took up his hat. I've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side.
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